


Your Shadow

by Ishti



Category: Aveyond
Genre: 2 + 2 + 1 fic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not Rhenegade Compliant, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 09:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14186118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishti/pseuds/Ishti
Summary: And I just want to beThe sum of your broken parts





	Your Shadow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iztopher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iztopher/gifts).



> (Happy birthday!)

The purple-haired human (who was ostensibly Te'ijal's boss, so she really ought to learn its name) and the new human, the shiny one, walked together on their way back to Sedona from the thieves' caves. Te'ijal couldn't take her eyes off the new one--it was covered in colors and sheens she'd spent over five hundred years imagining, never seeing, while relegated to the darkness. Golden hair like coins or wheat (or like the hair of a knight), silver armor like jewelry or the moon (or like the armor of a knight). Everything she'd ever dreamed of.

The shiny one, "Galahad", spoke to the purple-haired one like they knew one another. Te'ijal hadn't bothered paying attention to where they all went and how long it took to get there--she was pretty sure they'd been on a boat at some point; that was the part when there weren't any new people around to taste--but maybe the purple-haired human was from around Sedona, too. It had the same accent as Galahad. For her part, Te'ijal could go another century or so without seeing another damned vampire, so she didn't understand why these two Sedonan humans were so excited to meet.

"Vampress."

Te'ijal glanced beside her. It was the demon summoner.

"Yes?"

"I see how you stare at Galahad from behind," it commented quietly. "You may find more luck joining him in his conversation."

Te'ijal raised her eyebrows. "You speak nonsense."

"If you are fond of him, you should join him. That is all I want to say."

"Then shoo."

The demon summoner shrugged and left Te'ijal alone. What an annoyance--but also, what an idea. With a quick lick of her bottom lip, Te'ijal pressed a little forward and listened to the conversation ahead. The purple-haired one was speaking in its high and tidy voice.

"So the fromager said to the fisherman, 'I've got a great shipment on the way in!' And the fisherman said, 'Well, isn't that grand for you; my ship meant to come in years ago!'"

It giggled, then, and Te'ijal figured that must have been a joke. Galahad made a thoughtful noise and nodded his head.

"Yes, I have heard that one as well."

The purple-haired one groaned. "Seriously? Ugh... oh, hang on; I've definitely got one you haven't. Okay, there was this guy named Rip Van Winkle...."

Te'ijal rolled her eyes. What a waste of time.

Well, whatever. She was certain this trip would only get more interesting as time went on. The _new_ human couldn't possibly be as dull as the old ones; she'd read about him in countless books. He would be romantic and sensitive while also enforcing his ideals with glorious, bloody violence. Te'ijal really hoped he wouldn't go back to the castle after they did... whatever it was they were doing.

"...and the Roquefort salesman said, 'That's nothing! One time, I met a girl for a shag in a cave, and you should _see_ what happened to my lunch!'"

The purple-haired human grinned up at Galahad, and he made a noise. Something low and deep, preceded by a _"ffff"_ and concluded with a _"tch-hh-hh",_ and altogether too intriguing for Te'ijal to take her eyes from him.

_Oh... he laughs._

She grinned. Galahad _must_ stay.

 

 

Te'ijal tucked her house key back into her satchel and shut the door behind Galahad. He looked miserable. She loved it.

His armor and short hair were dull in the dusk of Halloween Hills. Even in the flickering light from the candelabras so meticulously maintained by her ghosts, his coloration was off, the shadows cast by the creases and angles of his face stark, almost frightening. That wouldn't do, not for a paladin; Te'ijal bit the inside of her lip and reminded herself that the ghosts should be ordered to soften the lighting.

"Welcome home, muffin," she said.

He said nothing.

"Shall I show you around?"

Still nothing.

That was fine. "Come with me. Do not break anything."

The clanking echoed around the tall walls and high ceilings of Te'ijal's mansion. Walking through the halls, she thought they seemed a little more restrictive than she remembered. Narrow, maybe. She took Galahad through the dining room to the kitchen.

"My brother Gyendal and I each took a fragment of the crypt from which we burst," she said, glancing back to watch Galahad's uneasy expression, "and I keep mine on a shelf over the range."

They stopped in the doorway. Te'ijal pointed. "See? Look there--"

"You."

Te'ijal froze. _Speaking so soon?_

"You have... a range?"

She looked at Galahad again. His eyebrows were raised high toward the center of his forehead, and something twitched in his cheek.

"Yes, I have a range," she said, gesturing with disinterest at the stove against the wall. "But, do you see the little stone? It is hard to say, but I believe mine has the letter 'R' on it."

Galahad tucked his lips into his mouth and said nothing.

"Well! Down the hall we go."

Clank, echo; clank, echo.

"That is my coffin-room. I sent in an order for a designer coffin for you, my plum; I believe--yes, it has already been delivered. The red one in the back! Does it not look cozy?"

No response.

"You may not fit in all of your armor. Anyway, we shall concern ourselves with that later! Let us move on. Across the hall here is the bathroom."

The clanking stopped.

"You have... a _bathroom."_

Te'ijal turned on her heel to face Galahad. "Of course I do. Vampires must wash."

She watched Galahad's Adam's apple as he swallowed. The twitch in his cheek returned, his jaw straining. She raised an eyebrow.

"Is something wrong, crumpet?" (She reveled silently in the irony of the question.)

To her shock, he swallowed again and simply said, "No."

"Very well." Te'ijal turned again and led him down the hall to the stairs. As they climbed, she considered swaying her hips seductively to make him angrier, but she was much too distracted by her wonder at his odd reactions during their tour. His voice was a smidge too high here and there. What was _that_ about?

"There is little of interest upstairs," she admitted, "although I am thinking of installing a larger attic to accommodate an additional ghost. I do so love my pets. Ah, here."

They reached the top of the stairs. Te'ijal turned about on the railing, and Galahad followed her a few feet to the only door other than that of the attic in the ceiling. Tall windows framed the door on either side. She turned the knob and let Galahad in first.

Simulated starlight streamed into the room through the walls and ceiling, all of which were made entirely of glass and supports. A plush carpet ran from the door to Te'ijal's favorite reading couch in the center of the room. She'd wished for her beautiful windows to remain bare, so she had arranged the bookshelves in the center to divide the room; two were behind the couch, and two more back-to-back on either side, all in a neat row. Potted _Dracaena_ and _Sansevieria_ adorned the room here and there, and a few modest spider plants hung from the ceiling on iron hooks. Unlit candles completed the ambiance, some melted over their perches on the arms of the bare sofa or on the end tables, but most rarely used, saved for those occasions on which Te'ijal most yearned for the warm light of the Overworld.

She smiled at Galahad, close-lipped. "You may like it best in here. This is my sun room."

Galahad choked.

At first, Te'ijal was alarmed; she wouldn't have her brand-new husband succumb so soon to unprompted suffocation. Then, she heard a low noise rumble from his throat, strangled somewhat as it grew higher.

"You... you. You have a... sun room."

Te'ijal blinked as Galahad turned his face away and covered it with his gauntlet, but she did catch the briefest glimpse of his cheeks, raised and full and a little dimpled, while the paladin snuffled into his palm.

 

 

Living in Ghed'ahre with a selectively hemophobic ex-paladin wasn't easy for Te'ijal. She wanted to show him off at cocktail parties or cuddle with him by the blood river, or at the very least see what he looked like under all of that oppressive armor, but he wouldn't budge. Not for decades. It was as if he entered a waking sleep so deep he couldn't be roused by anything.

Once in a while, Te'ijal took her comatose husband to the bar. She didn't really know why she did it, but the thought of going without him upset her, so she dragged him by the leash she kept around his psyche. She always ordered him a glass knowing he wouldn't drink it. It once delighted her so to disgust him with her vampiric culture, but he reacted to nothing anymore, and she'd found that she no longer took much pleasure from it. She was five and a half hundred years old, and only now had this disillusioned melancholy begun to wash over her, only after a pittance of years with the prize she'd craved ever since her first hunt.

So they were at the bar, and her glass of blood was nearly empty, and of course his was full. As usual, his hands were on his knees, although a decade or two ago they were always in fists and they now lay flat as if depleted of energy. He stared down at nothing. She leaned her elbows on the bar and stared at nothing, too.

"Galahad."

"Mm."

(That was new, too; he'd spoken only in real words and full sentences for twenty years before giving up.)

"Andre la Lune is in Ghed'ahre for a week."

"Who?"

"Oh, the greatest fashion visionary of all vampire-kind. Rumor has it that he burst from a royal mausoleum in the kingdom of Quin."

Her words were enthusiastic, but she couldn't quite perform the fervor she'd once embodied. Hearing herself speak almost made her sad. She shook her head--she had to do better than this. What was the point of eternal undeath if she wasn't _happy?_

"Anyway," she continued, "he is to host a fashion show in the church! Haute couture, I think, but he always brings with him a selection of the season's ready-to-wear outfits for sale. I want to go! I may purchase one or two for myself, and I wish for you to find an outfit as well, because we are going to Vladimir's ball next month."

She looked at Galahad and smiled. Her rambling was almost enough to convince her.

He sighed, much sharper than Te'ijal had grown to expect. "No. I'm sick of your needling, snake. I won't attend any vampire's ball."

Te'ijal drew back, surprised. "Husband! Such zeal!"

Galahad rubbed his forehead. "I'm not playing any further games with you. Whatever vampiric spell you placed upon me at our wedding has long worn off, and I shall no longer play victim to my own complacency."

"The... the sireship?"

"I've tolerated you for far too long."

"That never wears off so quickly," murmured Te'ijal.

Galahad glared at her. "I am a resilient man."

She swallowed.

"You may have taken my life, _creature,_ but you haven't taken my spirit." Galahad pushed back his barstool with a sharp _screech_ and stood to his full height.

"Are you leaving?" Te'ijal whispered, her eyes wide.

"That you must ask such a question demonstrates that you've never been any sort of wife to me."

Galahad's grey cloaked swished behind him with more vigor than he'd demonstrated in years, and he left the bar, slamming the door.

Te'ijal's mouth was just ajar for a long moment as she stared after him. Her hand still clutched the stem of her glass, and she trembled for a second, hard enough to spill the blood. It dripped down her fingers onto the stained wood of the bar.

"Te'ijal," snapped a familiar voice. She turned back on her stool to face her brother behind the bar.

"Gyendal," she sighed. "I thought your shift was not until one."

"It is one-oh-five. There is a clock on either side of the bar. I believe the doctor in Witchwood is adept at curing tunnel vision."

He was snide, as usual, but Te'ijal couldn't muster the energy to roll her eyes. "What do you want?"

"I want you to stop spilling blood on my bar."

There were a million possible witty responses to his jab. Te'ijal said, "Mm."

"Ugh. You even sound like him now. Something is wrong with you." Gyendal snatched the towel from the liquor cabinet and mopped as much blood as he could from the bar. "What concerns me most is that you once had the energy to chase down anything you wanted. You had the ambition of a queen. You could have taken the moon if you wished."

Te'ijal tried to swallow, but her throat felt full and sharp, unbearably sharp. Her eyes stung. She tried to speak, then, and she couldn't do that, either.

"You squandered your gift, Te'ijal." Gyendal sniffed and turned away. "There's nothing left in you but dolor and decay."

Water splashed here, then there on the bar. Te'ijal smeared it away with her hand before Gyendal could notice.

 

 

Ocean air was invigorating. She loved it the most at night, she'd found--odd for her because there were far fewer humans ambling about the docks, but perhaps not so odd for a vampire. She'd long been out of sunscreen, unfortunately. Even if she could traverse the city in sunlight, Te'ijal actually enjoyed the quiet lately. The washing of the waves reminded her of something she missed.

It was hard to believe she'd cried when Galahad left. The memory made her chuckle. After all, had she not then gained an incomparable opportunity? In chasing him, had she not chased herself?

She took a moment to remember this town. It wasn't one she'd been to more than once or twice on her previous excursions to recapture her husband. Stormbend, she thought it was called. Quite small, and quite new. The young forest around it was still scorched to oblivion half a century ago. Resettlement efforts around the kingdom of Thais had succeeded, then; not that it was her problem.

_Where would Galahad be?_

The slightest hint of periwinkle reflected in the waters to the west. Morning was on its way. The inn, then.

She found him at the inn's bar--he liked to get a drink before going to bed, although she couldn't figure out why. Human drinks would taste like nothing to him as a vampire. Perhaps he was trying too hard. She knew a thing or two about that.

She sat next to him. He shouted.

_"You!"_

"Yes, me." She smiled, a twinkle in her eye. "Have you come to expect otherwise?"

"No," he grumbled; "I suppose that would be foolish."

"The sun is on its way up. Have you secured the windows in your rented room?"

"Yes, damn me. Someday may the Goddess bless me with fatal forgetfulness."

Te'ijal tutted. "We must go home when she sets again. Gyendal--"

"I would prefer not to hear that name again unless absolutely, strictly, _immediately_ necessary."

"Oh, but you _will_ come home with me anyway."

Galahad's gauntleted fingers pressed hard into his tankard, leaving an imprint in the metal. "Have you nothing better with which you might occupy your time? Truly?"

Te'ijal frowned. "Well, of course. I...."

Galahad stared her down, silent. Her mouth was open.

"Well... there's...."

She shook her head absently, pressing her fingers to her temple.

Galahad sniffed. "You have no self outside of me, do you? Hunting and tormenting me is your entire identity."

Te'ijal looked away. That hurt like a sword to the gut, in a way he'd never managed to hurt her before. _"Serpent spawn"_ and _"Creature of the night"_ were one thing. A true-ringing accusation was another entirely.

"I picked up a few _souvenirs_ on my journey this time," spat Galahad. He dumped the meager contents of his pack onto the bar. "You may be especially interested in this one."

Momentarily grateful for a distraction, Te'ijal took the letter from Galahad's hand, but her relief dropped through her toes to the floor the moment she saw what it said.

_"Te'ijal,_

_"If you're reading this, I haven't seen you between the drafting of my will and the occasion of my death. In this case, there's nothing I regret more than our estrangement._

_"You've reminded me and the world what it means to be passionate. Your endless reserve of energy and drive resonates with those who need it most. They've saved the world through you, and they will continue to do so through those you've inspired, particularly me. I'm grateful I knew you, both for myself and for the kingdom I try to dutifully serve with that same passion._

_"The world can't have me anymore, but it can have you for as long as you'll give it. Please take my world; I trust you with it today just as I trusted you with my own life seventy years ago. Love it as much as you ever did._

_"Your friend forever, in life and death,_

_"Rhen Pendragon"_

With swimming eyes, Te'ijal looked up from the letter. On the bar between Galahad's hands was a block of glass, perfectly encased in which was a single red rose. Te'ijal knew the loose petal and the faint brown stain she saw on the thorns. Galahad's forehead rested on the top surface of the block. His shoulders shook.

There was a bottle full of a white substance on the floor; it fell when Galahad emptied his pack. She bent to pick it up and sniffed the mouth. It smelled of coconut.

"Galahad..."

She'd whispered without realizing it. She couldn't speak around the dagger in her throat.

"What?"

"Rhen...?"

"And Dameon."

Te'ijal stared at the bottle in her hands. She couldn't see it. Her eyes dripped like leaves on a June morning.

"And Lars?"

He nodded.

"And... and John? Marge?"

He nodded.

"And--" she couldn't, couldn't say it; it wouldn't come out through her lungs, her throat "--and El--"

"Rhen was the last."

"No, no..." Te'ijal covered her mouth. "No, it can't... I never saw her ag--Elini--she's... she's...?"

He nodded.

Te'ijal sobbed.

 

 

She fell from the sky.

Whatever just happened made so little sense she could barely comprehend it. It didn't matter much what had just happened, though, because she was currently falling from the sky and that was her biggest and most immediate problem. She looked as best she could to her left and her right. It was no use; the clouds were too thick to see through. As far as she knew, she was the only one falling right now. She closed her eyes. Impact was survivable, sure, but it would hurt.

There it was. Ouch.

Te'ijal lay still for a moment, waiting for the broken pieces of her skeleton to strap themselves back together. Her brain was rattled and as foggy as the field around her. She curled her fingers around grass--damp and pliant. Springtime grass.

Something crashed to the ground near her, to the left. Not _something;_ that was the unmistakable sound of Galahad's armor hitting the ground at terminal velocity. She heard him groan and cough, wet, likely laden with blood.

"Galahad," she rasped, her own lungs not yet reconstructed.

He groaned again and turned his head to see her. "You're alive," he murmured.

Te'ijal tried to chuckle. "No," she wheezed. "I'm a vampire."

Galahad closed his eyes. A stern twitch lit his jaw beneath gaunt cheeks, but he said nothing. That was fine.

Then,

"Mel."

Te'ijal's eyes snapped open. She remembered something.

_"Mel."_

She tried to sit up and stars bloomed in her eyes, the swirls and shapes clouding her vision until she couldn't see her own hands. She moaned in pain and slumped back to the ground, but her mind was pounding and her heart flooded. _Mel, Mel, Mel, please be alive--_

"She--she was with Stella," said Galahad, his voice a little high. "She and the other two. Stella must have flown them out, or that little--the demon--it wouldn't let her... let her...."

"Galahad," pleaded Te'ijal, her voice little more than a whine. "Please tell me you saw them, _please."_

"I...." _Damn you, you're not a paladin anymore, please lie to me, please._ "I cannot say... after Mordred fell."

"Mordred." Te'ijal repeated the name in a whisper. "The... the portal?"

"The Orb of Light worked."

Te'ijal shook her head violently, dislodging the stars and turning her vision into a sea of grey. "I don't care about the damned _Orb,_ Galahad; where is Mel?! Is she still...?" _Is she trapped in the demon realm again? Is she in shattered pieces on the cold ground?_

Far behind Galahad, a great _woosh_ cut through the mist, as if a dragon was coming in to land. Te'ijal struggled to blink away the fear and see, frenzied in hope, what she could.

_Yemite._

Over each shoulder, the strong little demoness carried a limp figure, one wearing armor and the other a bright bow, askew. Te'ijal held her breath and pointed for Galahad to turn and look. The young ones didn't look conscious.

Yemite laid her charges on the ground and knelt before Mel. In seconds, Mel's bow rose above the grass.

A breathless laugh escaped Te'ijal's mouth. She covered it, shocked as the tension left her body from a wave building in her throat, but she lowered her hand when she heard Galahad do the same.

He turned to face her again. She had never, not once in the three hundred years of their marriage, seen the earnest, tender, full grin she saw then, the uncut fangs he hid from the world suddenly on display in an emotional color he didn't bother to control. It traveled from his lips to his eyes, his forehead and jaw, his cheeks. He smiled like a human.

"She's alive."

She felt her own smile as she stared at his. "She is. Oh, thank the... thank...."

And she sobbed, confused and trembling, her heart too full to contain.

The tears spilled from her eyes gracelessly to cavort with the dew, but still she couldn't stop laughing. The giggles and sobs became one animal, pawing through her throat and refusing to let her stop to breathe. Her wet cheeks stretched up to peak softly near her ears.

She heard Galahad laugh, and when she could finally open her eyes, she saw the muted moonlight glimmering from rivulets down his scarred face.

"We did it."

The disbelief Te'ijal held for everything they'd seen and done that night, for the demonic portal spanning the entire sky of Aia, for the Orb's uncanny repair at the hands of a disgraced usurper, for the death of her own brother... it was all numbed. She might wake up tomorrow night and feel it hit her like a collapsing tower, but tonight, her ribs snapped and her skull cracked, the humans she swore to protect _alive_ against all conceivable odds, she could only harbor one disbelief at a time, and there he was.

She reached out a shaking hand and, with the delicacy of a painter rendering the eyes of the Goddess, she brushed a wandering tear from Galahad's cheek. He closed his mouth and sniffled, but the smile remained steadfast.

Unsure what to do in the face of this unknown, Te'ijal laughed again, nervously, quietly. He responded in kind. She moved her hand to the grass between them, and they laughed and cried, and as their chests heaved, they laughed louder and cried harder, wetting their hair and suffering grass in their mouths.

He braced his body with his hand beside hers. Without thought or prompting, their hands met, and they squeezed the tremors from one another, and they laughed and laughed and laughed, their tenuous fellowship at last a small and honest comfort.

**Author's Note:**

> And when the lights go dark  
> I will stand right beside you.


End file.
